Blank mind, cloudy vision
the satisfying crack of collision
from an elbow swung, or punch thrown
and in my ears, a buzzing drone
I breath deeply, and start to think
of how I was pushed, to the brink
I really do regret it now
I'd fix it but, I don't know how
But it feels so good, at the time
but the mind doing it, isn't mine
It's not the nice sweet child
with polite voice, and manners mild
But which am I and which is me?
Which one of those am I going to be?
The child, who's weak yet nice?
Or the monster, nobody crosses twice?